It's Time!
by Lilian Katora
Summary: Amy Pond is murdered before she ever meets the Doctor. Timelines change, and universes converge. Sherlock Holmes is asked to make the biggest leap in his career.
1. Chapter 1

"Bored."  
"You're always bored when there isn't a case," John laughed, watching in amusement as his friend collapsed onto the black sofa, drawing up his knees as he stared languidly up at the ceiling.  
Sherlock sighed. "Yes, and at the present moment, there isn't a case!" He heaved yet another sigh, one that yelled 'FRUSTRATED!'. "You know, often, I wonder how you and the rest of...humanity can go on like this. Just sitting until something strikes your fancy... All leading fairly perfunctory lives, doing the same tedious thing day after day. It's maddeningly boring!" John bit his tongue, knowing that if spoke, nothing but lecturing words would come out. It was funny. It was as if he was the grown up one in their relationship. After all, how many countless times had he been forced to berate Sherlock on his rude and arrogant behaviour? Too many times, that was for sure.  
"Sherlock, just calm down. Another case will pop up eventually-"  
"Eventually isn't soon enough." the consulting detective retorted, rolling his eyes. John glared at him.  
"Fine. Do whatever you want. What do I care? I'm only your _friend." _He spat the word out, trying to get Sherlock to understand that he was only trying to help him. Why couldn't he just _see_? After all, he was supposed to be the observant one, the brilliant one.  
"Friends are overrated." Ouch. Really...ouch.  
"You think so?" The corners of Sherlock's lifted in a cruel smirk.  
"I know so." That was it. John had had enough.  
"Where are you going?" Sherlock asked, as John stood to grab his coat.  
"Out."  
"Oh. Well, on your way out can you get some-" The door slammed behind John. "milk. We've run out."

* * *

By the time John had returned, cool enough to have calmed down, Sherlock had already found another case. And he was ecstatic. John inwardly groaned. Uh-oh. What was it this time?  
"Ah, glad to see you have cooled down, John." Sherlock greeted, catching sight of him. "I need your help."  
"Alright. Fine, then. But do you have anything to say to me first?" Alright, so he hadn't cooled down _completely._ Sherlock smiled.  
"Did you get the milk?" John shook his head in answer, partly in disbelief.  
"No. I did not. Okay, so what did you need my help for?" A childish excitement came over Sherlock. He grinned.  
"I need you to go to Leadworth to investigate a murder."  
"Murder? Why can't you do it?"  
Sherlock answered simply, "I'm busy."  
"Doing what?"  
"Working on another case." Seeing the look that came over John just then, he added, "Alright. So I lied. I've got two new cases." He shrugged on his coat and scarf, already brimming with that air of 'alertness' that he took on whenever the game was afoot.  
"Where are you going?"  
"I have an old friend to catch up with."


	2. Chapter 2

_A long time ago in London..._

A little boy, about 12 or 13, was busy reading while everyone else was busy prancing around outside. Of course, it was his _own_ choice. He was old enough to make his own decisions, no matter what Mummy or Mycroft said.

"For every action..." Sherlock mumbled, eyes squinting over the tiny print. "there is an opposite and equal reaction." Physics wasn't such a tedious subject, but to be frank, he liked chemistry better than physics. It was far more simpler to comprehend. And much more entertaining than physics. It was-

"Sherlock!" Mycroft called, swinging in through the doorway. He grinned down at Sherlock. "Mummy says now you_have _to come outside."

"Tell her I'm busy."

"Busy?" Mycroft laughed. Sherlock wasn't busy! He was being stubborn. The little devil...

"Yes, busy."

"What's this?" Mycroft snatched the worn textbook from Shelrock's hands, studying the title carefully. After giving it a thorough scrutinisation, he chuckled.

"This is physics," he said.

"Yes, it is." Sherlock quipped in a condescending tone. Why couldn't Mycroft just leave him alone? He was _so _annoying. And Sherlock didn't like annoying. He grabbed physics textbook, adding slyly "And this is me taking it back, while my older brother is being dreadfully annoying." Mycroft looked affronted. Dreadfully annoying?

"You know," Mycroft said, walking towards the open doorway, where a spectacular shade of warm, golden sunlight filtered through. "If you're going to insult me, you might as well come up with better insults, _Sherly_." With a cold nod, Mycroft was gone. Sherlock sighed. It was always like this, ending in the same boring manner. Why couldn't he be nice for once? Why did he have to say something rude? The answer was simple. He didn't know how to.

"It's not Sherly,"he grumbled, flipping to the page he had been reading from. "It's Sherlock."

* * *

Amelia Pond hadn't been the first companion the Doctor had met when she was a child. Sherlock had also been young and naive when his life had been drastically changed by the mad man in a box.

The Doctor had been busy trying to fix his TARDIS' chameleon circuit (what was the point, really?) when there had been a great shiver that ran through the TARDIS, distracting the Doctor.

"What the..." before he could finish his sentence, the TARDIS shook and suddenly began to spin, something it had never done before.

"What's the matter?" The Doctor said, as he held on for dear life on the TARDIS rails. "Where are you taking me this time?" But there was no answer. Not so much as a pulling-of-a-lever. Really? She wanted him to be kept out of the loop? Not on his watch. The Doctor brought out his sonic screwdriver, balancing it between his teeth as he struggled towards the scanner. He 'soniced' it, and an image popped up on the screen. As he read the coordinants, the TARDIS hummed in protest as the surprise she had for him was spoiled.

"What?" The Doctor protested. "I was curious." There was light, sighing sound before the TARDIS came to an abrupt halt. That was better. Much better.

"London. Why have you brought me to London?" No answer. "Fine. I'll ask it another way. Why have you brought me to..." He glanced at the screen. "Holmes manor?" Silence. The Doctor scowled.

"Fine. I'll just have to find out on my own then." He stalked angrily out the doors, an overgrown ten-year old who had just found out that Christmas was canceled.

Surprise me, ha! The Doctor stomped out the doors, bumping into an equally angry boy.

"Watch it," the boy scowled.

"Oi! Watch your tongue." The boy looked directly into the Doctor's eyes, defiant and brave. He stuck his tongue out at him.

"Make me."


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi! I'd first like to address the reviews I have been getting. Thank you. They were all brilliant. They actually inspired me to carry on with the story, 'cause initially, I had only started it in the first place out of boredom and hadn't expected to go on with it. But as it is...**

**The next chapter or so will still be in 'flashback mode' about young Sherlock meeting the Doctor. Bear with me everyone. I WILL, you know, eventually get back to the present and continue the story from there. But right now, I want to dive a bit deep in Sherlock's past (It's surprisingly fun writing as young Sherlock). So, be patient. By the way, this chapter sort of jumps between narratives. Just saying. So you won't all be terribly confused. If it says 'the boy' that is the Doctor's POV and if it says 'the man' that's Sherlock's POV. Got it? ****Thanks again, and read on!**

And he did make him.

"This is space," the Doctor explained, pointing to the obvious. Behind the screaming mass of black curls, there rested the void that was space. Truly beautiful to behold. Billions of galaxies spread out like a warm blanket over the dense void, with billions of stars in them , creating an almost infinte impossibility of wonder and spectacular light. Yes. This was space. And with one little push, the little brat would be gone.

'You've gone too far,' a voice in his head told him. Perhaps it was his conscience. Maybe he had. But at the moment, he didn't care. Not really. Okay. Maybe a bit. Maybe a sliver of a fraction. Did that make sense? Probably not. Oh well.

"Let...me...go!" the boy screamed in wild terror, and amazingly, annoyance. He glared at the Doctor. Who was this man? Was he even a man?

"Are you sure about that?" The Doctor replied with a grim smile.

Realizing his mistake, the by corrected, "I mean, just...stop it. I'll...Okay, you win." The Doctor had been around long enough to know the difference between defeat and..._defeat._ The boy certainly had that defeat look about him. Interesting.

"Alright," the Doctor said, suddenly a wild grin plastered on his face. "I'll bring you back inside but only on one condition." The boys eyes widened in terror. Perfect. "Say you're sorry."

* * *

Sherlock was definitely _not _amused. Whoever that...person was, he was a mad one. He nearly killed him! And that box! What on earth had that been? Obviously, a box, yes, he had figured out _that_ much, but what sort of box was bigger on the inside?

"Extraterristrial that's for sure." Sherlock muttered.

* * *

After the boy had apologised for his insolent behaviour, the Doctor had kept his word in bringing him back inside the safety that was the TARDIS. Okay, so maybe he had gone a bit far. It wouldn't have been the first time.

"Who are you?" Sherlock asked, as soon as he had stopped trembling. Fear was for wimps.

'Okay,' the Doctor thought to himself. 'he's not one to beat about the bush.'

"Someone annoyed."

"Obviously, but who _are _you?" the boy folllowed the Doctor to the console, looking around with an analytical gaze uncommon for a boy his age. The Doctor sighed, when they had walked around it twice. He turned and faced the boy.

"Fine. I'll answer if you answer my questions. Deal?" The boy looked like he would rather eat radishes (those things were disgusting!) but he nodded, if reluctantly. Still, he had agreed. Best to keep a steady eye on the positive.

"I'm called the Doctor, just the Doctor. Don't ask stupid questions about it 'cause I'm really not in the mood for them. And besides, you don't seem the type to ask stupid questions. Am I right?"

"Yes."

"Good. This beauty here," the Doctor gestured around the room. "is called the TARDIS. It's an acrynom for, well, **T**ime **a**nd **R**elative **D**imensions **i**n **S**pace. You with me so far?" Again, the boy nodded. Blimey, he was sharp one. Watch out for him.

"And, as impossible as this sounds, this is space vessel and-"

"I know." The Doctor's eyebrow arched.

"Really?"

"It wasn't hard to deduce."

"Okayyy then. Like I was saying, it's a space vessel, but it can also travel in time." Here, the boy gave a derisive snort. Ha! Time travel! That man really was mad!

"What?"

"Time travel. It's impossible."

"No, isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"No."

"Yes."

The Doctor groaned. "It is! End of discussion! I don't have time for this!"

"If time travel reallly was possible, which it isn't," the boy remarked. "and you were a time traveller, you should have all the time in the world." Okay, this human was getting on his last nerve.

"I'm taking you home."

The boy protested. "No! You didn't answer all of my questions! I have more!"

The Doctor smiled. "Yeah, well, tough."

"And I didn't answer yours." This gave the Doctor pause on his way to pull one of the TARDIS leavers. He did have a point. Damn him. Abruptly, he whirled to face the young person.

"Fine. Who are you?"

The boy grinned. The Doctor was surprised how arrogant the grin was. It almost reminded him of someone...Nah. He was probably just imagining things.

"Sherlock Holmes."


	4. Chapter 4

The ride there hadn't been THAT long, really. So he had fallen asleep about a quarter of the way there. So what.

John exited the car.

"Thanks," he mumbled slamming the door shut. 'This is going to be fun.' he thought as he looked at the somewhat vacant-looking village. Right. Better get started then.

* * *

Sherlock was not too pleased to go and meet his old friend. In fact, it was only with great reluctance that he had bothered to go to the coffee shop at all. Why couldn't _he _just come to him? Sherlock sighed. He knew it didn't work that way and probably never would. Time travellers.

Someplace public, the doctor had requested. Sherlock undertsood _why _he had wanted their rendezvous to be somewhere public. It was to make sure Sherlock didn't do anything overly stupid. Right. As if he would. Where _was _he? Sherlock was getting impatient and bored. He sighed and checked his watch. Five minutes. He had been there for just five minutes. He closed his eyes, trying to fight the frustrated and restless feeling but to no avail. The Doctor would be there soon. Patience was just needed. That was all. Patience? Patience?!

Any second now...

Patience was for wimps and those who led humdrum lives. He didn't need patience. Patience needed him.

"That doesn't even make sense," Sherlock muttered to himself. But he didn't care. Out of sheer desperation in trying to keep calm and phelgmatic, Sherlock began tapping at the glass of water he had ordered only minutes before.

Tap... Hurry up now. Tap. Oh, God... Tap. Damn him. Tap. That was it. He had had enough.

As Sherlock stood to leave, however, twitching slightly from the agitation, he froze instantly when he heard _his _voice.

"Still as impatient as ever, I see."

Sherlock turned, smirking to hide his nervousness. Why was he nervous?

"Still saving the universe, I see."

"Oh, now and then I take a break." The Doctor glanced at his friend, grinning. There was an awkward silence before they both said, "It's good to see you again, old friend."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N This is a flashback, to when Sherlock was a teen. Just in case, you know, anyone gets confused. **

They met in London in a museum of all places.

Amy had been there on a class fieldtrip while Sherlock...well, it was a day off from school and he had nothing better to do then to sit on a bench and stare at people. Which was NOT in any way creepy. He had been there to simply deduce.

'Cabbie' Sherlock thought, languidly. Honestly, they were all easy to pick out now. Ever since the Carl Powers incident, his deductions had been spot on (close to that, anyway, but he was almost always right so it didn't matter). That guy was a serial monogamist, that one a shop keeper. That woman there recently divorced and she was happier because of it.

He sighed. Life was getting a bit duller now. Sure, he hadn't solved the Carl Powers case, but that was only because the police were all too stupid to let him help. They thought he was just a 'boy'. Please. If anyone was the 'boy'(S) it was those idiots.

A girl about fifteen, his age, walked in with an older woman, presumably her mother. The woman he passed off as 'single and miserable about it' but the girl piqued his interest. She possesed the most fiery shade of red he ever saw in her hair, her hands on her hips as she surveyed her surroundings. If he had been ordinary, he'd have thought her pretty. But as it was...

Still. Why did he keep staring at her? Why couldn't look away? 'Stop it,' he told himself. Nope. His eyes betrayed him. They kept right on staring. Damn it.

A song came on then, on the intercom.

"Since it's Valentine's Day, we thought you lovebirds in the museum might want a taste some classic music. Here's to you lot," a voice over the intercome announced. It was Valentine's Day? Who knew?

_'Oh where, oh where, can my baby be?_  
_The Lord took her away from me_  
_She's gone to heaven, so I've got to be good_  
_So I can see my baby when I leave this world_...'

Oh, God. The song was horrible. Ugh. Yuck. Horrible taste. Why not Bach, or even Beothoven? Not this rubbish. This was _not _classical music at all. Idiots.

"I like this song," someone said from beside him. "Don't you?" NO. It was the same girl he noticed earlier, the red-head.

"It's not exactly my taste. It's...alright." he replied. He abhhored the song. Loathed it. He wanted to tear his ears out, if he could. Pearl Jam was NOT his choice of music preference.

_'We were out on a date in my daddy's car_  
_We hadn't driven very far..._'

"Alright? It's not just alright. You must be mad to think so. If you don't like this song, then what do you like, hmm?" She was a fiery one.

"Bach. I love his music, the way that he-" the girl snorted in derisive laughter. What did _she_ know?

"You're kidding, right?" He rarely 'kid', but when he did the prequisite of the joke would hardly be understood by ignorant folk.

"Why would I kid you?" She shrugged.

"Dunno." Her eyes were soft, like the sea, he noticed. No. No they were NOT soft. NOT LIKE THE SEA. What was he thinking? Was he going mad?

"Wanna dance?" the girl offered. This took Sherlock aback, somewhat. Dance? Was _she _joking now? No. He never danced. Never. Dancing was for wimps and people with-

Sherlock suddenly found himself in the arms of the girl, swaying the ridiculous song. What was he doing? Dancing, that was blatant, but in the middle of the museum? No. This was too much. He shouldn't have came. No. He had to get away...he had to...get...

Her eyes. Her wonderfully green eyes... he could just gaze into them forever. No! Stop it!

"What's your name?" the girl said. Even in his delirious (had had decided he was delirious to dance with a girl) state, he could still deduce many things from this girl. She was scottish, getting that from her accent, but had moved to England. She was also waiting for something...from the impatient tapping of her foot, to the mystery of her eyes (oh, those eyes...) he could just tell she was waiting for something.

"What are you waiting for?" He needed to know. This girl...whatever power she held over him... he would solve her and then leave. Yes. He did NOT like her in the least. No. The frantic beating of his heart was just... well, it was just...

In answer, the girl placed her lips over his, whispering,

"Happy Valentine's Day."

_'I lifted her head, she looked at me and said_  
_"Hold me darling, just a little while"_  
_I held her close, I kissed her our last kiss_  
_I found the love that I knew I had missed...'_

Dancing to a song he hated with a girl he had just met, in a museum of all places, he had NOT fallen in love. No. That would be impossible.


	6. Chapter 6

Amy Pond was the most interesting, and quite frankly _maddening _girl he had ever met. Ever since that bizarre day in the museum, Amy was always dragging Sherlock along for the ride. Mycroft often teased Sherlock about his new _girlfriend, _but oddly enough Sherlock never denied that she was. His girlfriend. Girlfriend. Girlfriend!

The very thought caused him to cringe, not out of embarrassment but out of...surprise. He had never had a girlfriend before and certaintly not one so very...Amy.

Amy held his hand as they walked along the sidewalk together. Her hand in his felt...nice. There. he had admitted it. He actually liked having her hand in his own. It wasn't so bad after all.

Amy had to eventually return to Leadworth but they still kept contact.

"_Oi. _You'd better still talk to me, Sherly." She said to him on their final afternoon together. Sherlock gazed up at the sky. No. He wasn't sad, he wasn't-Oh hell. What was the point in denying it all?

"Of course I will. And don't call me Sherly."

She giggled. "Good." She pecked him on the cheek, the colour rising at the place where her lips had made contact. "'Cause I'll still be yours, _Sherly."_

_'Cause I'll still be yours... _He didn't quite understand the sentiment, but from observing his father and mother he knew that it meant a great deal just to be even said aloud. So he cherished her words. Yes. Cherish. Sherly-no-Sherlock Holmes cherishing a girl's words. The world was ending.

Sherlock sighed aloud. The truth was, he didn't want Amy to go. Of course he didn't. Mycroft was an idiot, what with all the teasing, but Sherlock could tell he liked Amy. He even had the tact to keep from looking _completely _shocked when he had brought Amy to meet Mum and Dad. What a day _that _had been.

* * *

"Amy..."

"No, Sherly. I told you. I never want to speak to you _again. _So why don't you just leave me the hell alone?!" Her flagrant disregard to him took Sherlock by surprise. What was she playing at? Two months ago she had told him she was his and now...she was yelling at him to go away. What changed?

He was visiting her. Leadworth was dull, but Amy Pond was worth it. At least, until now. All week she had been acting..._strange. _Especially around him. But what did it all mean?!

"Amy-"

"Oh, shut up. Shut up!" Amy had tears in her eyes. Standing in her back garden, Sherlock felt helpless. It wasn't a feeling he particularly enjoyed.

"What's the matter? Why won't you speak to me?" He pleaded. He had never pleaded. Not once in his life. Confusticate love! Amy had changed everything.

"Because...Because I...I'm in love with someone else! Alright!" Amy wiped at her eyes, glaring at him. "Unlike you, he isn't a machine. He isn't preoccupied with cases and chemicals and...rubbish. He's...always been there for me."

A sort of calm came over him. He let the coolness take over, glad of a reprieve from those awful things called _emotions. _

When he spoke, it was in a saddened whisper. "What's his name?"

"Rory." Sherlock nodded in silent assent. Rory. So that's who his competition had been. For a moment, he let the anger reside, and let Amy know how bewildered and caught off guard he was. But after the moment passed...He vowed to himself to never, ever let something like that ever happen again.

Love was just...a chemical defect found on the losing side. He had no use for it. He'd leave her, leave Amy Pond and her Rory behind.


End file.
